(this is an example of why I prefer
not to write things that rhyme
and why I don't call my writing poetry)
Then he said, "Come no closer!
Remove the sandals from your feet,
for the place on which you are standing
is holy ground." Exodus 3:5 NRSV
Waking/aching for my morning to be
spent in hours of solitude or obscurity,
the wood stove fire I feed through the night,
the strong coffee and the strong sunlight,
the absence of men and pets and sound
bring a peace once lost, now finally found.
A single bird's mating song
is not even close to being wrong,
nor the distant call of the neighbor's wind chime
to help my helpless, hopeless rhyme.
Slowly the room becomes almost too hot;
no slippers, nor socks; I wear bare feet
in this holy spot.